DEIMOS
He could’ve been a machine again – a living, breathing weapon, defiant until the last moment, reticent and indifferent, watching the world pass him by until there was an instant he could smite it. That had been his way for what felt like centuries – few getting close, because then it wouldn’t hurt, because then they’d leave him the hell alone and he could commit his atrocities, his predilections, his pursuits. The primordial sword could’ve lacerated them all and he wouldn’t have felt any pain, would have been left to his own devices, to brew and brood and collect dust on his icy throne, with his chilling scepter, with his intentions towards demise. He could’ve been a hollow crater, a vessel with no soul, nothing, nothing, nothing, until the world turned black and dark, like his heart, like his essence, and everything, everyone, massacred in his wake.
But then, people happened. Huyana. Rexanna. Kiada. Amalia. The list kept growing and growing, and they didn’t leave him to his own merciless wake, to his own reckless, unrelenting ambitions, tugging and pulling him along until the darkness didn’t seem to touch his eyes so often, until the debris settled around his feet instead of along his tethers, nooses, and threads. Was that better? He bled just as much: but for them, and not for himself. Was that better?
The question spiraled through his mind as he continued to gaze upon the firebrand, as he thought, mulled, and inquired over the broken barbs and thorns clustered and contorted in his abyss. Did his heart ache any less, because it moved for others instead? Were they all foretold to leave one another, piece by piece, shard by shard, string by string, until eventually, they all returned to where they’d began? Or was his pride, his convictions, his thousands of oaths, vows, and assurances, going to be able to save them all, time and time again?
He was a shield. He was a sword. And he’d do his damn best for any one of them. The Reaper couldn’t do anything to terminate the consternation except gain strength and prowess, and make the whole world realize that he, they, were a force to be reckoned with. “So we train,” he nodded, arching his brow again with the barest hint of a grin. “And we scheme.” Then he raised his hand so it lingered in front of her forehead, before a finger flicked her, intentionally, right between her eyes. “And we work together.” It wouldn’t stop her from worrying; it didn’t cease him from the apprehension either – but preparation meant they might be ready for the long road ahead, instead of fussing over which damned thing was going to get them next.
But then, people happened. Huyana. Rexanna. Kiada. Amalia. The list kept growing and growing, and they didn’t leave him to his own merciless wake, to his own reckless, unrelenting ambitions, tugging and pulling him along until the darkness didn’t seem to touch his eyes so often, until the debris settled around his feet instead of along his tethers, nooses, and threads. Was that better? He bled just as much: but for them, and not for himself. Was that better?
The question spiraled through his mind as he continued to gaze upon the firebrand, as he thought, mulled, and inquired over the broken barbs and thorns clustered and contorted in his abyss. Did his heart ache any less, because it moved for others instead? Were they all foretold to leave one another, piece by piece, shard by shard, string by string, until eventually, they all returned to where they’d began? Or was his pride, his convictions, his thousands of oaths, vows, and assurances, going to be able to save them all, time and time again?
He was a shield. He was a sword. And he’d do his damn best for any one of them. The Reaper couldn’t do anything to terminate the consternation except gain strength and prowess, and make the whole world realize that he, they, were a force to be reckoned with. “So we train,” he nodded, arching his brow again with the barest hint of a grin. “And we scheme.” Then he raised his hand so it lingered in front of her forehead, before a finger flicked her, intentionally, right between her eyes. “And we work together.” It wouldn’t stop her from worrying; it didn’t cease him from the apprehension either – but preparation meant they might be ready for the long road ahead, instead of fussing over which damned thing was going to get them next.
i'm in the mood to dissolve in the sky
